


neither the angels in heaven above

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Series: the stars never rise but i feel the bright eyes [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: A little, Anal Sex, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Reconciliation Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor has come to this house on the beach before, in anticipation and excitement with desire and trepidation pounding relentlessly through his blood. </p><p>Now, for the first time, with his body aching and scarred from a recent lost battle, Thor arrives with violence in his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	neither the angels in heaven above

**Author's Note:**

> The unasked for sequel is finally written!
> 
> Mostly because these two dorks are too hopeless for me to ever leave them alone.

When Thor wakes, it is to the unnatural softness of a synthetic mattress. A soft breeze washes over his skin, filtered in through blankets of cotton. Not Asgard, his hazy mind concludes, with its solid mattresses and heavy furs. He rolls over onto his stomach, his hand groping through sheets and under pillows for any possible hint as to his whereabouts. There is nothing: only the feel of clean, impersonal sheets.  


  
His brief search having yielded nothing, Thor sits up slowly, hazy blue eyes blinking hard to clear the blurriness from his vision. His pupils contract, though only slightly, since the weak sunlight filtering in through thin curtains is barely bright enough to register. He can spy the outline of a dresser and a mirror, an open doorway to what appears to be a bathroom but before he can investigate further a polite, disembodied voice greets him.  


  
_“Good morning Mr. Odinson. It’s good to see that you’re awake and well. I shall inform Mr. Stark.”_   


  
Thor sinks back into the overly plush pillows with a long sigh. Midgard. Specifically, Stark’s tower. The clicks and whirs of the building sink into his awareness and with them, the memory of the events which landed him here.  


  
As he’d begun the battle he’d had no inkling that this fight would be aught different than any other skirmish he’d endured on Midgard. The opponent had not been of the middle realm but that was not necessarily reason for concern. Ever since Loki’s attack, dozens of hungry eyes had turned towards the mortal’s realm. Hardly any of this attention had a benign reason.  


  
With another long sigh Thor forces himself to sit up and swing his legs out from underneath the sheets. His bare feet touch the ground and he shivers as the chill creeps from the soles of his feet through his body. Despite the dull ache of his body’s protests Thor forces himself the rest of the way out of bed with only a long exhalation as his muscles reabsorb the weight of his body. With painfully small steps Thor moves towards the small dresser across the room. Each movement jostles muscles which ache with the recollection of past hurts done to them—a blow here, shrapnel alongside tender ribs and finally—  


  
Thor glances in the mirror before he pulls on a shirt. Several thin white lines zigzag across his torso, reaching up to his shoulders and down to his hips. All the lines trace back to an ugly wound located just underneath his sternum. The ragged edges make it look as though a huge wolf sank its teeth and claws into the meat of his chest.  


  
It had felt like that as well. He’d been arrogant and laughing in his victory, borne up by the ease at which it had been obtained. Power had coursed through him, his skin still electric with the storm’s sweet song roaring in his blood and in that split-second nothing else had mattered other than the sheer exuberance of the fight.  


  
The blow from the sorcerer—for it had to be a mage, no other fighter could have ever crafted such a weapon—had blown him backwards and knocked the laughter out of his chest. Pain, searing and absolute, replaced his previous mirth. Had he the breath, Thor would have roared in rage as his fingers probed at the torn places in his armor. His stunned mind struggled to process what his hands already knew. He was wounded, perhaps badly, and his allies were scattered and still laughing over their triumph.  


  
A heartbeat passed. Pain still tore through his nerves and muscles but Thor was nothing if not a warrior, born and bred for the battlefield. The sturdy weight of Mjolnir in his hand anchored him to the present and her enraged cries filled him with enough strength to rise up and strike back. Lightning cracked the sky and the scream of thunder matched his own cry—  


  
“Hey big guy, glad to see you up and moving around!”  


  
On Asgard his chambers were considered sacrosanct while he was within them. Only trusted servants, his closest friends and members of his family were allowed access. On Midgard, Tony Stark walks into whatever room he so pleases. Thor will allow that this tower is indeed Stark’s palace, so perhaps he is within his rights to do so, but courtesy would allow for at least an announcement. At least this time he is fully clothed.  


  
“Yes, well,” Thor groans, hiding his wince as he turns too swiftly. Stark stands in the doorway, arms spread wide in welcome. His smile is wide and disarming but the weak sun does not hide the dark purple bruises underneath his eyes. “I am sorry if I have worried you.”  


  
“Ah no, who was worried,” Tony scoffs. The attitude is too cheerful, the words coming out of his mouth a hair too fast. Shadows flicker in deep brown pools and guilt stirs unwelcome in the pit of Thor’s stomach. “You’re, well, you know. God of thunder. Sturdy guy and all that. Knew you would be all right after a little catnap.”  


  
“How long did I slumber?” From his dry throat and his eyes’ continuing refusal to function properly Thor knows that his healing sleep was extended past what most mortals would consider normal.  


  
“Oh, you know, not long, just two weeks.” Tony laughs and just for a second the shadows disappear from behind his eyes. “You know, not long at all.”  


  
Thor smiles at him because in spite of his aching body and the scars which still mar his flesh, he is happy to have these friends here. “Still, I do apologize,” he says, clapping at hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. To his credit, Stark barely stumbles.  


  
“Yeah, well, things weren’t entirely quiet while you were playing Sleeping Beauty,” Tony says, falling behind him as Thor makes his way to the kitchen. His abdomen aches with need and Stark keeps his pantries well-stocked. “Some weird stuff happened which we were hoping that you could tell us about.”  


  
“If you’re going to ask where the mage was from I could not help you,” Thor shrugs. He opens the refrigerator, in search for something more filling than mere bread. He finds it in the form of cold sausage, and straightens to face Stark. “His origin and name are as much a mystery to me as to you I’m afraid.”  


  
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Tony says darkly and Thor’s chewing stutters for a second. Stark sounds troubled but it’s uncommon for the man to admit to it so readily.  


  
Tony glances over at him and sees the lines of tension stretching across Thor’s shoulders, his food all but forgotten. He rolls his eyes and waves a hand towards him. “Look, finish breakfast all right champ? It’s nothing that can’t wait for a few hours.”  


  
Thor doesn’t trust him but by this time his stomach is practically howling with its demands and he yields to Stark’s wisdom. Still, he can’t squash the rising feeling of unease, the one that’s been building within him ever since he awoke.  


  
Because he thinks he knows what made this mage such a formidable enemy.  


  
*~*  


  
“All right,” Stark says, taking a seat in the middle of his laboratory. He claps his hands and dozens of large holograms and screens flicker to life, lighting the room with a faint blue glow. Thor sits slightly off to the side but where he can still easily see the screens. Data rushes across it, too fast for most mortal eyes to catch yet Stark nods. Thor cannot help but be impressed—already this man has surpassed his peers and, with a little help, his designs could start to resemble Asgard’s within just a few decades. Truly remarkable.  


  
“Jarvis managed to pick up enough feed from traffic cameras and whatever to cobble together pretty good footage of what happened.” As it summoned into being by his voice, images without sound start to play across the screens. Thor doesn’t want to watch but he forces himself to pay attention to the video. The fight looks worse when he can see his mouth open in pain and spy bits of his armor flying past the camera.  


  
“So, you know what happens next,” Tony says after the video shows Thor flinging lightning at his opponent. He does. The scar in the center of his chest flares with remembered agony as Thor watches it happen on the screens. Lightning leaves him, speeds straight for the sorcerer, a guaranteed swift death—yet there is nothing there, only a blank space where the man once was and then…and then…  


  
Thor has had worse wounds, has come close to death several times but the sheer betrayal which ran through his veins, as cold and paralyzing as Jotunheim’s frost, was possibly more painful than all of them. His own power, turned against him, the beautiful, ferocious storm, unleashed on him…Thor is glad that the sudden blaze of light hides everything but his outline on the screen. What he felt in that moment is no one’s business but his and Mjolnir’s.  


  
The next moments startle Thor and he leans forward in spite of himself. His own recollections are hazy, unformed things—the smoke on the street, the sharp tearing pain in his chest, the Captain’s hands on his shoulders, Romanoff’s crisp voice, his own voice saying faintly _Rest, I just need rest—_  


  
A mirage of green shimmers at the corner of the video footage, there and gone almost before it has time to register. Thor’s eyes slice over sharply to Stark but if he’s noticed anything amiss then he keeps his silence. He steadies his breathing and watches the screens, aware that Stark is not observing the replay of past events so much as he is observing Thor.  


  
The screen flickers to black once Thor disappears, clinging to Mjolnir as she flies towards his balcony at Stark Tower. Thor sits back in his seat and folds his arms. “I saw nothing there of interest,” he notes. “I, or anyone else present, could have told you as much.”  


  
“Ah, that was just a recap,” Stark says. “You fight, you get zapped and Voldemort disappears. You go to bed and then we’re all left wondering what the hell kind of beast can take out a damn god.” Thor guiltily shifts at the reminder of his absence but Stark continues. “Then, just as we’re deciding to go launch a full scale assault to find this guy—“ Tony laughs, a tired, disbelieving sound, and shrugs. “Jarvis, role footage of two weeks ago. You know the one.”  


  
Images spread across the screens once more, this time showing the sidewalk directly outside Stark Tower. From the angle of sunlight hitting the building Thor would put the time of day in the early evening, supposedly on the same day of the battle. The sidewalk is deserted, void of even the passing shadows of pedestrians. As he watches the video a strange sense of foreboding settles in Thor’s chest, directly underneath his wound.  


  
Without warning the sidewalk _shimmers_ , green light bending through thin air. Thor’s heart jumps to his throat. Beside him Stark hums in acknowledgement as well as a caution to keep watching. Thor doesn’t think that he could tear his eyes away from the screen for anything less than the building exploding.  


  
After a few seconds the light fades, leaving a single, crumpled figure on the sidewalk. The camera zooms in, close enough so that Thor can see the stark crimson spread across the pavement. So much blood and so little skin to match it. One tangled limb lays askew at a twisted, unnatural angle, achieved on by deliberate, sadistic precision. The few scraps of clothing are dyed a dark rusty brown and stained beyond all recognition but Thor recognizes the weapon, now lying harmless beside the remnants of a body. His stomach lurches as something uncomfortably close to nausea seizes him. Tony’s sharp eyes narrow and Thor clenches his fist as he steadfastly stares at the screen. A single rune glows emerald above the shreds of a chest and the same spot on Thor aches with an empty pain even now.  


  
The video keeps playing, shows the Avenger’s varying reactions between horror, disgust and grim satisfaction. Thor’s eyes pass over them quickly, glued instead to the rune glowing like a beacon amidst the mangled ruins of flesh.  


  
For the past few years Loki has preferred the shadows to the spotlight. He emerges rarely and then only when he feels that each part of his scheme has been rehearsed to perfection. His appearances are flamboyant and perfectly scripted, theatrical almost. This, the mindless savagery in broad daylight at the Avenger’s doorstep…It fits no known pattern and follows no reasoning that Thor can understand but he’s never known Loki to do anything without purpose. Unease rears its ugly head once more as Thor stares at the damn rune. His body well remembers the violence of the blow while his mind lingers on the sorcerer’s disappearance, swift as a blink. The tendrils floating in front of his face begin to weave themselves into a cohesive, awful whole.  


  
“So, obviously,” Stark says, after the silence stretches to an uncomfortable length, “you can see what we’re thinking.” One corner of his lips twitches upwards in a pitiful attempt at his usual sarcastic grin. “Unless you have some nice godly insight you’d like to add?”  


  
Thor knows that when it comes to Loki, his credibility is strained. His teammates always give him the benefit of the doubt but Stark’s small hesitation before meeting his eyes is proof enough that sometimes, it is a struggle. He will give them no reason to doubt but at the same time he doesn’t want to divulge his suspicion. That particular wound is still too close to the surface, still stings too much if Thor examines it too closely.  


  
Luckily, Thor had Loki for a younger brother and learned that the truth can be a fluid, fickle beast. “Loki does many mad things, most of them for reasons that I cannot comprehend.” Thor shrugs with shoulders as stiff as cardboard. “He has left me out of his thinking for quite some time now. Perhaps he was bored.”  


  
“Oh good, a bored supervillian,” Stark gripes, throwing his head back. “Just what this world needs. Couldn’t he just you know, go play video games or something? Pick up a decent book, watch some good TV?”  


  
“It appears that this time he’s done you a favor, however…ill-advised the execution,” Thor tries.  


  
Stark’s dry, disbelieving laugh is expected and probably even deserved. It still hurts. “Yeah, the next time he tries to destroy a major city we’ll definitely have to keep that in mind.” He stands and with a wave of his hand, the screens and holograms disappear, turning the room back into a dull grey. “Thanks for the help big guy.”  


  
Thor nods even though he feels as though he’s performed no great assistance. He and Stark both head for the stairs that will take them out of the laboratory and back towards the living areas.  


  
And all the while, Thor’s hand rubs at his chest, fingers unconsciously tracing the rune’s design.  


  
*~*  


  
The incidents are blatant and showy. Fish are thrown out of the sea and thrive without water, happily flopping about in the sand. The tides are thrown off their normal rhythms as water boils and freezes alternately, and a small ocean-front town experiences record breaking drops in temperature. Loki would have done better to simply write his name in the sand.  


  
Thor hears the confusion in the mortals’ voices, senses the increasing desperation of the actions and still he hesitates. One thought relentlessly gnaws at his mind, turning his sleep fitful and his days torturous. The mage had been strong but he had not possessed enough power on his own to deflect a blow from Mjolnir. And his disappearance…In all of his time Thor has seen only one person with the ability to vanish between breaths.  


  
A beached whale crawls back into the sea on fins and flippers and Thor finally acts.  


  
He arrives late one afternoon with Mjolnir crackling at his hip. The sun is hidden behind a cloud too ominous and dark to be completely natural but Thor isn’t sure whether the sky’s appearance is due to Loki or his own, savage temper. While his brother is not incapable of manipulating certain aspects of the elements Thor’s mood is fey and unpredictable, as wild as he was many years ago on the frozen wastelands of Jotunheim.  


  
The waves slap against the shore with a crack as sharp as thunder and a rumble as strong as an earthquake. Thor watches the foam bubble on the damp, hard sand. A breeze pulls at him, sly and tempting while the ocean roils with barely contained menace. Thor watches it all, stricken to his core. Somehow, Loki has taken this, their refuge and sanctuary, and warped it into something dangerous. Thor’s throat tightens at the thought. He wants to claw this feeling out where it lurks just underneath his skin, wants to scrub his brain clean once more.  


  
Instinct pushes at him to leave, to flee and never return. He doesn’t want to feel this betrayal anymore, the knowledge that even the most sacred places can eventually be profaned. A knife in his back would have been kinder than this.  


  
He hates Loki in this moment with a fury so absolute that it takes his breath away.  


  
“You certainly took your time.”  


  
Thor turns around slowly, a planet revolving on its axis. Sand shifts underneath his boots and he remembers how it feels on his bare feet, remembers how Loki charmed the very earth into fantastic sculptures before his eyes. The sea had reclaimed them eventually but while they existed Thor had delighted in them, had rejoiced in watching his brother ply his arts towards beauty and creation.  


  
Now…  


  
Green tendrils of seidr crackle at Loki’s fingertips. The show is unnecessary: even with his ignorance of seidr Thor can sense the sheer power radiating from Loki. Like dozens of spider’s legs, magic prickles across Thor’s skin, screeching through his brain with the shrill scream of metal against metal. Ice shivers down Thor’s spine.  


  
Loki smiles. “Something wrong?” he inquires sweetly, the words dripping from his mouth like poisoned honey.  


  
Thor’s temper rises and thunder rumbles low in the distance. “Stop your tricks,” he warns, catching sight of green shimmers playing over the ocean’s waves. “You got your wish. I’m here.”  


  
“True,” Loki sighs. With a wave of his hand the sickly green light vanishes. Thor still doesn’t relax. The air between their bodies is still charged, each and every molecule flaring with the potential for disaster. All it would take to destroy them both is a single spark and Thor already feels like a blazing inferno.  


  
“You did take your sweet time about it, though,” Loki adds, his voice turning sour even as his mouth splits into an unkind smile.  
Thor exhales as twin forks of lightning rend the sky. From deep within his blood the berserkr’s siren call hums, its first notes sounding at the sight of Loki’s bared teeth. There is relief lurking within the song, the promise of oblivion and Loki’s milk-white throat underneath his hands. Almost worth it to surrender, to listen to the seductive purr of his blood heating, the roar of thunder matching the pulse of his heart, Loki’s vicious, defeated grin—  


  
“No.” The single syllable is forced out through a throat gone tight with the promise of violence. Thor nearly chokes on it. Loki’s lips curl in a feral grin but Thor doesn’t see a god intent on his destruction. Instead he remembers Loki kneeling in the sand, hands open on his thighs in surrender, his little brother staring up at him with flat eyes devoid of their spark while he smiles so hopelessly, so lost. _For mercy’s sake, just swing…_  


  
The scar slicing across his chest aches with a pain so sharp it’s almost like he’s being struck again. “No Loki,” Thor says, his voice gaining strength. Loki’s eyebrows quirk upwards in question.  


  
Before Loki has a chance to speak and poison his thoughts again Thor speaks, steel as implacable as Mjolnir in his voice. “No Loki,” he says and hears the echo of his father’s words sounding in his tone.  


  
The satisfaction snuffs out of Loki’s eyes. Anyone else would miss the swiftly repressed flash of panic but Thor has known Loki for over a thousand years and there’s very little his brother can do that will not escape him.  


  
Loki fluidly shifts his offensive stance to a softer, yielding posture. Any other time Thor would be impressed by the effortless switch of one ploy to another, like a dancer changing steps mid-waltz. Now, his emotions rise too quickly, the spark of his anger kindled too fiercely, and it’s all he can do to force himself to accept, clinically, that every word which falls from Loki’s lips is nothing but manipulation in its purest form.  


  
“What will you then, Thor?” Norns but his voice could charm the very birds from the sky! Thor bites back a groan to hear it, the darkly sweet words purred into the night to wash against his skin. If Thor opened his mouth then he thinks he might taste them on the air. Silvertongue, his brother’s detractors called him, disdain in their voices as they branded him with the name but Thor doubts they ever knew the true power of Loki’s voice.  


  
“Enough.” Thor growls in warning and Loki only smiles in response, teeth flashing white against the starlight.  


  
Loki slides closer. “I agree.” His steps never falter through the uncertain terrain of the sand as he stalks towards Thor.  


  
Thor is no craven to run but a deep-seated instinct flares in alarm as Loki reaches out to touch him. He doesn’t fear for his body—even his own meager sense of seidr tells him that there’s no power held within Loki’s touch, save for temptation but Thor fears this most of all. He knows, deep in the marrow of his bones, that if he allows Loki to cup his cheek, to wriggle into his embrace, to soothe his hurts with fingers and kisses, if he allows Loki to offer up his body as weregild for Thor’s angers and frustrations—He will forgive him, without a thought. The scar on his chest radiates pain and without thinking, Thor strikes out, slapping away Loki’s hand.  


  
Though his hand stings from the contact there was little power or thought behind his blow. They’ve dealt worse to each other both on the battlefield and in the bedroom, teeth carving out purple crescent marks on milk-pale skin while fingers claw blood to skin’s surface. But Loki recoils from him as though Thor’s dealt him a death blow, the whites of his eyes gleaming in his face for a fraction of a second.  


  
Loki’s mask settles back into place but now Thor doesn’t have to strain to see the cracks in the façade, the wobbles and creaks of his brother’s expression as he nonetheless, valiantly shapes his face to form pleasing words. “What’s this then?” he tries, head cocked at an angle which cunningly bares his throat, all at once vulnerable and a challenge. For once, Thor sees his brother’s mind working, knows his machinations but there is no victory in it, only sorrow. Every action Loki undertakes is carefully calculated: his disbelieving half-smile, the small halting steps forward, his outstretched hands, the inviting tilt of his body…Everything reeks of falsehood, of a master puppeteer pulling strings. Thor aches with anger as well as sorrow. He’d dared to hope, that after all their times here, the honest laughter and desire he’d seen reflected in Loki’s face, the swiftly bitten off curses and pleas, the genuine peace…  


  
“I’m here,” he bites out, the fury of a storm howling just underneath his skin. “You sent for me and I came. Now what do you want?”  
Thor’s eyes catch every detail—a jerky bob of a throat as Loki swallows hard, the unconscious twitch of his eyebrows as they try to furrow together, remnants of nervous tics that Loki never quite managed to erase. God’s eyes miss little and Thor’s eyes catch more than most. Each damning little detail, every single twist and curl—Thor’s sees them all, flashing over Loki’s face in the split-second of a lightning strike.  


  
“I don’t know,” Loki purrs. His eyes glow as a seductive smile curls at his lips. Lit by the stars and moonlight, with the waves crashing behind him, he looks like one of the Midgardian’s myths, a siren sent from the deep to entice him into damnation and destruction. Loki’s fingers skirt along the edges of his armor, pale flesh against hard metal. “I’m sure we could think of something.”  


  
Thin lips curve, inviting him closer, beckoning him to fall, to set himself alight in a fearsome blaze—how magnificent that would be, to see the flames from their pyres rising sky-high before ever their bodies lay atop them—A fingertip traces a buckle on the side of Thor’s armor before a single gesture flicks it open.  


  
Thor moves, swift and unforgiving, his hand clamping around Loki’s thin wrist. Loki immediately tries to jerk away but Thor holds fast, ignoring the warning prickles of seidr that sting at his palm. “You called and I came,” he repeats. Mjolnir is a heavy weight in his hand, Loki a struggling viper at his side. He cannot hold onto both of them, not without losing the other and a good deal of himself.  


  
Slowly, painfully, his joints creaking in protest, his heart screaming in alarm, Thor opens his hand and releases his burden.  


  
Loki springs free, immediately retreating backwards to just out of Thor’s immediate reach. Spiteful green eyes glare venom at him as his little brother holds his wrist close to his chest. Thor is not moved by the display. He has held Loki down with almost vicious force, pressed bruises all along his lithe body and Loki has never complained.  


  
“Trust me, brother,” Loki spits, derision dripping off the endearment, “that’s not a mistake I shall—“  


  
“We’re at quits, you and I,” Thor interrupts him. Blood pounds in his ears, making it difficult for him to hear his own voice, speaking words he never thought he would say.  


  
Loki freezes. Even the air around him seems unnaturally still and brittle, as though one tap could shatter this fragile bubble. “What?” he finally asks, his cool voice cracking at the very end.  


  
“You called, I came and now the debt between us is filled.” Mjolnir hangs in his hand, her weight dragging at his arm and Thor is weary, with the weight of millennia in his heart and the pain of betrayal etched into his chest.  


  
“No,” Loki laughs, his eyes gleaming with madness. Here is the brother that recently Thor has seen more often than not, the madman who delights in destruction, who rebuffs Thor’s every plea, who sows chaos and ruin wherever he steps. This is the man who is beyond redemption, who strayed too far and was lost along the way. “No, you and I will never be at quits, Thor.” His name sounds twisted and mangled in Loki’s mouth, rage and panic blurring together into a vicious, frantic blur. “The debt,” he spits, “will ever stand, Odinson—“  


  
“Loki, enough.” Thor’s voice rolls along the sand, quiet thunder promising a greater storm to come. “Why did you call me here?”  


  
Loki’s throat works as his tongue flicks out to tap against his lower lip. For once, his clever little brother seems struck for an answer but Thor is not content with this minor victory. He presses harder, taking his first step towards Loki. To his credit, the trickster does not retreat, although he looks as though he wants to, nervous eyes glancing to either side of Thor.  


  
Thor presses again. “Why now? Why summon me here?” He takes a step forward, sand sifting underneath his boots and this time Loki does step backwards. “For years you’ve never once tried to call me here, for years it’s been I who sought you out, why now Loki?” The last words escape from his throat, shredding it in their wake and Thor flings them to the ground at Loki’s feet.  


  
For a second the only sound between them is the eternal crash and roar of the waves. Then Loki’s laugh shatters the night.  


  
It is a wild, brittle thing and Thor winces to hear it. The shrill tones split the night sky as they slice through Thor’s armor and straight to his heart. On the edges of his brother’s mirth, madness lingers, sounding in the echoes of Loki’s laughter, the peals that continue for a beat too long. “Is it too much to ask,” Loki huffs, the last of his laughter leaving his body in spiteful puffs, “that you too might be at my beck and call? Or did you think that was a privilege reserved solely for you, to yank the trickster’s chain whenever it was most convenient?”  


  
“Enough,” Thor growls. The words sting, as Loki meant them to, and it takes effort to stopper the immediate denial which springs to his lips. “I’ve said what I came to say. For the rest—“  


  
Too many words clog through his throat, a farewell that he never in a thousand years dreamed of saying choking him. His promises of swift, deadly retribution, spoken through a prison wall, seem pale and half-remembered, as though it were someone else’s mouth saying them. Thor reaches for a sense of conviction, of righteous fury and finds nothing but blank, empty space and a weariness that goes deeper than Yggdrasil’s roots.  


  
“No,” Loki spits, panicking in his fury. “Thor, you can’t possibly—“ A helpless smile, piercing in its guilelessness, spreads across his face. “Was it such a crime to seek knowledge of your well-being?” he finally asks, hands spread wide in surrender.  


  
Layers upon layers, lies upon lies. Thor sometimes wonders if Loki can tell them apart anymore, or if he ever could. His brother’s eyes are wide and beseeching, lips wobbling as he valiantly holds his smile.  


  
“Why would that knowledge matter,” Thor asks, controlled fury crackling in his voice, “when it was by your hand that I was injured?”  


  
If Thor’s ears weren’t straining to pick out any noise amongst the tumult of the ocean, he would have never heard the swift, involuntary inhalation. His heart sinks, even as a look of horrified confusion spreads across Loki’s face, denials tumbling treacherously from his lips. Lies upon lies and his brother does it so well, so beautifully, that even when the truth is stark-white and scarred on his chest, Thor halfway believes the deceit.  


  
“By your hand!” he finally roars, when the cacophony of Loki’s denials threatens to drown him.  


  
Loki stops, his tongue finally startled into silence. For a second fear glimmers in the whites of his eyes, then Loki blinks and it’s gone. A cruel smirk spreads across his face.  


  
“Perhaps your injuries were more extensive than anyone realized.” Loki’s voice is frigid as he dismisses Thor with a wave of his hand but the blond can glimpse a hard glint in his brother’s eye, maniac and fearful. “If you’ll recall, it was not I you were fighting that day.” Thin lips purse in a moue of concern. Thor can almost believe his brother’s worry is real, could lose himself in the wrinkle between his eyebrows but something rings of falsehood, pretty gilding that conceals an ugly truth. Almost—the pain which that word causes slices across his chest with a vengeance.  


  
“Come inside,” Loki croons. The memory of his cruelty is so far from this solicitous soothing that, were it not for the scar’s pain gaping across his torso, Thor would swear he imagined all those battles. “Let me take care of you.”  


  
Loki’s voice washes over him, tickling and tempting. Is there a spell woven into the words to give them their power or is it Thor’s own desire that makes them seem tangible, like if he only tried hard he could reach out and grasp them?  


  
Thor grits his teeth and tries to cool his suddenly raging blood. The sorcerer’s mangled body flashes in his mind’s eye and words begin to fall from his mouth like weapons. “The fact that you used another’s hand to do your bidding makes it no less your work.” Loki stares, eyes hard, mouth pressed into an unyielding line. Lightning splits the sky and thunder rolls in its wake. Thor feels no better for the minute release as he continues.  


  
“Who else could it have been but you?” he asks. Nothing more needs to be said—Loki’s silence is as clear as any admission of guilt will ever be but this confrontation has been building in Thor for years, ever since he found his brother prisoner on the back of a Helicarrier, surrounded by mortals, and he doesn’t think that even Mjolnir could stem the tide of this storm.  


  
What more needs to be said? They both know that only Loki had the power to affect a mortal so, that only Loki would have prepared for Mjolnir’s power and could have managed to turn it in such a way as to harm Thor. The truth lurks within his brother’s shifting eyes, the hard set of his shoulders.  


  
Only one answer eludes him. “Why destroy him?” Thor asks, his voice barely audible over the crash of thunder and the roar of the waves. The blood splashed across the pavement, pale ivory bone rising from carnage… “After what he’d done…” He struggles for the right words and finds nothing, only carnage on a dirty sidewalk, a green shimmer in the air and scorching pain across his chest. “Why?” Thor finally asks. When it comes to Loki it’s the only question that he can ask. Most of the time it’s the only question that matters and always, it’s the one that Loki refuses to answer.  


  
The words linger on charged air, connecting the two gods through an invisible string that stretches across millennia and realms. Thor waits and watches Loki absorb the question like a blow. One heartbeat, then a second, then… “You have to ask?”  


  
Thor’s heart stutters in his chest as a last, deafening thunderclap rends the sky. Afterward silence descends like mourners in a graveyard and the hair on the back of Thor’s neck stands at attention. Waves continue to smash into the shore but even their eternal roar is stifled by the deafening thud of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His world narrows down to the blood coursing through his veins, the scarce distance between him and Loki. All he can see is the defiant rise of Loki’s chin, the glitter of his eyes against the black smear of the ocean, the vulnerable bob of his throat as he takes in a deep breath.  


  
Loki’s mouth contorts into a painful looking grimace that Thor hesitates to call a smile. “After all these years, you still have to ask,” he comments, staring into the space just beside Thor’s right elbow. “And I’d thought…” The tiny shake of his younger brother’s head shatters the little of his heart that Thor’s managed to retain through this talk.  


  
Loki’s face smoothes and somehow that’s even worse, to see the naked emotion smoothed away and hidden behind the glib, cruel mask he wears so well. “No matter,” he says, his voice cool and taunting, his hand waving as though he means to sweep everything away. “As you wish, brother. Our debt, such as it is, stands dissolved.”  


  
Green shimmers against black, a warning, and Thor’s mind blanks as his body reacts. His hands clamp around Loki’s biceps, anchoring the trickster to the beach. Thor holds on tightly, even though the faint strands of seidr housed within his body rebel at the feel of Loki’s magic just beginning to uncoil. Loki snarls at him as he struggles weakly against Thor’s hold, but Thor has rage and confusion lending him power and not even Loki’s half-intelligible curses can dissuade him.  


  
“Why?” Thor roars into Loki’s face, which twists with derision and perhaps even fear. _Why?_ His whole life burns with this one question, sparked into existence in a sterile white room on Midgard, after a fall from the heavens. _Why_ is Loki capable of lying and hurting him while Thor cannot manage even the feeblest of deceptions? He shakes Loki, hard enough that he hears Loki’s teeth clack together as his head jerks forward. _Why_ , because Thor might know the answer already but it is meaningless unless it comes from Loki himself.  


  
A guttural cry of pain and rage escapes through Loki’s teeth as he shouts, “Because of you!” Loki goes rigid in Thor’s grasp, his face a mask of horror. The words echo through the night, bouncing off the sand and surf before they rebound back to the two figures on the beach. The reminder seems to revitalize Loki, who fights Thor like a man possessed.  


  
Thor will have none of it. His previously punishing hold seems kind compared to his grip now. He must be hurting Loki and he knows that later his brother will bear the marks of his desperation but the thunderer can see no other solution. He will not, he _cannot_ , let this opportunity slip by.  


  
Trapped, Loki begins to speak. “Does it please you Odinson, to know the motivation behind my actions?” A slow trickle becomes a stream, becomes a torrent. “Would you like to gloat over the uncanny magician, brought low by his own sentiment? Or would you rather seethe and rage over the slaughter of one who was not so innocent?”  


  
“Shall I tell you how he died?” Loki’s struggles have long since ceased. He hangs limply within Thor’s grasp, head lolled backwards to meet Thor’s eyes. Only the venom pouring from his mouth gives the lie to his defeated posture.  


  
Thor says nothing, knowing that Loki’s confessions, once given, are reckless, ravenous beasts. His brother will fling words out like blades, desperate to draw blood. And while Thor might shrink from hearing his little brother spout out his tale of willful murder and carnage he will listen because for the first time in years he has the chance to understand Loki’s reasoning, however far from sanity it might fall.  


  
“Will you hear perhaps of his unworthy fingers, crushed to a pulp? What of his foul skin, torn from his body? His conniving brain, forced closer towards madness until he begged for an end to his torment?”  


  
Thor is a warrior first and foremost. He has never shied from the necessity of bloodshed but hearing his little brother so gleefully spitting out his misdeeds turns his stomach. Still, he listens on, helpless to turn away.  


  
“I would have destroyed his every fiber,” Loki whispers, his eyes alight with a fearsome blend of madness and affection. “His every molecule, until the very air and earth had no memory of him.”  


  
Thor’s nerveless hands loosen their hold on Loki. His brother does not attempt to escape. Instead he traces a meandering line down Thor’s bicep, to his elbow, before moving downwards to linger at his wrist, one fingertip pressed unerringly to the steady beat of Thor’s pulse.  


  
“I took your vengeance for you,” Loki whispers, his long fingers encircling Thor’s wrists. Such a seemingly fragile hold but Thor knows the strength of his brother, what disasters those hands have wrought. And still he allows Loki’s other hand to slide over his armor, up to his neck, to stroke over the vein beating life in his throat. So delicate, so vulnerable…Loki’s hands drop to his sides, discarded weapons in an age-old battle.  


  
There is chaos in the storm, mayhem and madness. And there is patience in the long game which Loki so loves to play, smoothness to his lies and predictability in his methods. Nothing can ever exist in a vacuum, can ever be wholly consumed by one facet.  


  
Loki’s lips taste of salt from the ocean and his body trembles as Thor greedily gathers him closer. One hand splays across his brother’s back while the other creeps up to tangle in dark hair. For a mercy, Loki submits readily to the hold, even going so far as to push himself closer to Thor with a small shudder.  


  
“Fool,” Thor growls, biting kisses into Loki’s lips, his nose pressed inelegantly against the cool skin of the trickster’s cheek. “You mad conniving fool…”  


  
“Yes, yes.” Loki’s voice comes in short, shallow pants as his face presses into Thor’s neck, his breath fogging the armor before it sneaks below the metal to tickle his bare skin. Whether his brother agrees with the assessment of his character or is asking for more of the same treatment, Thor doesn’t know. Nor does he care. He is not a greedy man: the words passed between them tonight will sate his hunger for many days to come. What he longs to hear now has no words—only the high whines, and short growls, the sharp cries and soft sighs which fall so easily from those liar’s lips.  


  
Hard as it is, Thor forces his hand away from Loki’s body. His fingers stretch out for Mjolnir and she immediately answers his call. If he allows himself to fall victim to the basest sentimentality then he would imagine that she practically glows with warmth, her song low and contented once more.  


  
Thor shifts his remaining hand from the back of Loki’s head to his waist. His arm curls tightly around his brother’s lithe body, pulling their bodies flush. Loki hums in pleasure, his arms winding around Thor’s shoulders, tightening his hold.  


  
It might be unkind but Thor can’t help but laugh at his brother’s undignified squawk when Mjolnir lifts them off the ground. Loki’s hold, previously tight, becomes positively punishing but Thor doesn’t feel the pain, only the surety of his grip and the rush of the wind against his face, cold and bracing.  


  
“Walking too mundane?” Loki’s mouth is directly next to Thor’s ear as he shouts over the air whistling by them. Thor would be annoyed at the mocking tone if it weren’t for a long leg snaking behind his thigh.  


  
“Too slow,” Thor grunts instead, his eyes directed on the house’s back porch. Without loosening his hold, Loki cranes his head and follows Thor’s line of sight.  


  
“If you crash through the walls I swear to the Norns, I’m not fixing it.” Thor huffs out a laugh. As if he would ever deliberately damage the house.  


  
Loki says nothing as they drop gently onto the roof, causing as much disturbance as a feather on the surface of a still lake. The house is dark behind them and without the noise of the ocean’s waves the only sound Thor can hear is the shallow puffs of Loki’s breath.  


  
Anger still beats sluggishly in his blood and Loki’s sly smile does nothing to abate it. Instead it hones the edge of an already sharp temper and Thor hisses in disproval. Loki’s smile becomes sharper.  


  
Clever little trickster. Clever, sly, reckless fool to stir up the passion and anger between them, to awaken Thor’s desire when his emotions are still in turmoil. For once Thor can see his brother’s manipulation plain but now he doesn’t even dream of fighting against it as he tangles thick fingers in dark hair. He twists hard enough to make Loki gasp. Obeying the insistent pounding of his blood, Thor manhandles Loki forward. His little brother puts up a token resistance but as they cross the threshold of the house, Thor notices that the door opens and closes without a hand ever touching it.  


  
With Thor’s hand propelling him forward, Loki stumbles into the bedroom. He hesitates when they reach the bed but a single push of Thor’s hand sends him sprawling face-first across the mattress. Loki doesn’t move when Thor follows him but he does keep his face hidden. A quiet alarm sounds in the back of Thor’s mind. “Problem brother?” Thor asks, pressing his chest to Loki’s back. While the steel keeps him from experiencing the more tactile sensations he can still feel the minute shiver run through his brother’s body.  


  
“Am I to be mounted like an unruly mare?” Loki’s warning is wrapped in a silky voice but Thor knows his brother well enough to hear the brittle uncertainty underneath the poise. “Shall you fuck me into submission until I can do no more than pant your name?”  


  
It wouldn’t be the first time. Memories rise and Thor’s blood quickens in response. Loki, struggling and snarling underneath him, thin wrists held captive in his hand and squeezed almost to breaking, the magnificent tension building and bursting, screams and curses softening into a languid tenderness made all the more precious by the storm which preceded it.  


  
But that was then and now…Loki stiffens and a faint crackle slices through the air. Thor can taste seidr on his tongue, can scent it in the air, and with that, his brother’s unease. He spares a moment more to gather thoughts scattered by lust and anger, unable to act in haste when the consequences for failure are so very high.  


  
The trust between them has been beaten and battered almost to the point of shattering. Even now, Loki’s goading and Thor’s temper threatens to rend their delicate compromise asunder. Thor can follow the urgings of his blood, could do as Loki says and fuck him until he’s nothing more than a limp, sweaty heap—and it would solve nothing. The tenuous thread binding them to this place would be snapped and nothing could ever repair it.  


  
Thor breathes in the salt air, the slight mustiness of a house sitting still for too long, the faint scent of Loki’s soap. He knew the second that his feet touched the sand that he didn’t want to lose this.  


  
He leans over Loki’s body and seals his mouth over the place where Loki’s pulse beats steadily just underneath his jaw. Loki is still rigid in his arms and he hates it, hates that they’ve come to this, that Loki’s once again forced them to the brink of disaster. His anger rises and, in response, Loki’s pulse quickens and the bitter tang of his seidr washes over Thor. No good, not when Loki’s fingers are clenched within the sheets and his body quakes with minute shivers. Anticipation or fear, none of it matters when the knife’s edge they dance upon becomes thinner with each second passing.  


  
With effort, Thor relaxes and redirects the heat of his anger into the simmer of desire. He lays soft kisses to the back of Loki’s neck as one hand slides underneath the trickster’s body and urges him onto his back. Once he can see Loki’s face he’ll feel as though he’s treading on firmer ground. The hard glint of fear and barely repressed anger softens and Thor relaxes still further. He trails his hand over Loki’s chest, savoring the feel of the soft fabric underneath his callused hands. On his next pass, Thor dares to lift the fabric up and away from the waistband of his pants, slipping his hand beneath to touch skin.  


  
Loki’s approving sigh releases the last bit of tension between the two. With steady motions Thor raises his brother’s arms and slips his tunic off in one gentle pull. The garment falls to the ground and Loki meets Thor’s eyes. His hair is pleasantly tousled and while a wicked smirk still dances over his lips it lacks the jagged edges of before. Thor’s heart beats gladly in his chest and he doesn’t bother trying to repress the grin spreading over his face as he strokes Loki’s sides.  


  
“Well then?” Loki asks after a few beats. His voice is low and insinuating and the slight huskiness sends blood surging down to Thor’s groin. “What’s your pleasure brother?”  


  
There’s a goad located somewhere in that question but Thor doesn’t care— _pleasure_ —In one smooth move he reverses their positions and falls backwards onto the mattress, dragging Loki on top of him. Before he has a chance to settle himself Loki’s mouth is fused to his, his teeth and tongue moving with an urgency bordering on desperation.  


  
His previous gentleness vanished, Thor clutches at Loki, pulling him closer but never close enough. Anger, fear, desire, love—It’s always like this, always a maelstrom of emotion and sentiment, responsibility and history, feeding off each other until they threaten to devour the other.  


  
It’s only now, with Loki nipping and sucking his way down his neck, that Thor wonders if it could be different, if _they_ could be different. If, instead of taking and devouring, if they could build one another, fortify each other. If, instead of simply coexisting, they could make each stronger, make each other better.  


  
It’s with this thought in mind that Thor rolls over, putting Loki underneath him once more. Thor regrets the sudden tension which runs through Loki’s body but he has enough faith to believe that he can bring his brother back. He starts by nuzzling the curve of Loki’s jaw and then moving his way down the long expanse of milky-white throat. By the time that he reaches Loki’s collarbones his brother is moaning softly, arching his back further into Thor’s touch.  


  
A long fingered hand trails up Thor’s arm, only stopping when it reaches the unyielding edges of his armor. With a low growl, Loki attacks the fastenings, his skilled fingers dancing over buckles. While he’s quite familiar with the workings of Thor’s armor and very adamant in his attempts, there’s only so much that he can reach from his position. Loki attempts to rise and finish the job but Thor pins him down to the bed, one brawny hand spread across his chest. Loki actually snarls at him, his lip curling in frustration. Urgency rises in Thor, the overwhelming need to lose himself utterly in his brother but he tamps it down and silences his brother with a searing kiss.  


  
“Leave it to me,” he commands, pulling away from the kiss just far enough to remove his armor. His composure is flagging and he can’t seem to rid himself of the cumbersome chest piece fast enough. The armor falls to the ground with a loud clatter but the sound falls away in the bliss of skin upon skin, sweat sliding across bare chests, Loki’s mouth tracing the hard lines of his shoulders.  


  
Loki nips at his skin, hips rolling purposefully upwards. Thor shudders underneath the assault, his own erection painfully hard within the confines of his pants. When Loki’s legs part wide in invitation his struggle only becomes more difficult. Thor wants nothing more than to rut into the tempting body beneath him, wants to hear Loki scream his name, wants to feel that strength yielding beneath his own… “Damn you, hurry up,” Loki growls. When not even that works, in frustration, he sinks his teeth into the meat of Thor’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise.  


  
Thor groans at the assault, pain and pleasure mixing in a bright swirl behind his closed eyes. Norns, but Loki could make a stone’s blood boil! “Patience,” he grits out, words hissing out with his swift breaths through clenched teeth. Loki whines, needy and desperate as his fingers clench in Thor’s hair. Every touch, every sigh and moan erodes Thor’s will just a little bit more.  


  
He finally gives in, allows himself a brief surrender and nearly sobs from relief as his hips snap sharply into Loki’s. The brief friction is divine and not enough, not nearly enough as Loki keens and bucks. Panting, Thor pulls himself together, repeating his mantra of _slow slow slow_ like a prayer. His fingers wrap around Loki’s wrists and ease them up to bracket either side of his head. He keeps his hold light but firm: a suggestion but not a binding. Loki’s eyes narrow and his hips buck up but Thor is almost certain that the latter is more about emphasizing his brother’s impatience than it is about Loki struggling free.  


  
“Wasn’t it you always lecturing me about that particular virtue?” Thor asks with a breathless laugh as he unlaces Loki’s breeches. “Always telling me how much I was lacking, how it would do me good to learn more…” A particular memory surfaces, Loki twining thin strands of seidr around his wrists and ankles, leaving him immobile while the younger had his wicked way with him—it was slow, agonizing torture and Thor had loved every second of it, had begged for more until his throat was too hoarse to speak—and then Loki had made him scream.  


  
His thoughts must be written on his face because when he glances down, Loki’s expression is smug. “Congratulations,” he says tartly, lifting his hips to allow Thor to slide his pants off, “I suppose you’ve been rubbing off on me.” A pointed tilt of his pelvis provides a delicious innuendo and Thor bites back a groan at Loki’s heated flesh on his. “Now if you wouldn’t mind getting on with it.”  


  
There will be more times for slow, Thor hurriedly decides as he glances down at Loki’s body, and he hopes desperately that he’s right. To tease his brother into the very heights of pleasure, only to let him fall and then bring him up again, to make him scream and howl, whimper and beg…Please, Norns, he silently begs as he tangles his fingers in his own lacings, please let him have time, let him have centuries and beyond of blissful nights and lazy days…Thor’s never been one for bargaining but save Mjolnir and the safety of the realms, there’s not much he wouldn’t give to have the reassurance of warm sheets every night.  


  
Sensing the change, Loki huffs out a pleased laugh. “Patience?” he asks. Thor grins fiercely. Though Loki plays at being unaffected, the rough tone in his voice gives him away, just as Thor’s urgency betrays him.  


  
“Quiet,” Thor growls, nipping at the nip of Loki’s waist in warning. Loki, damn him, just preens underneath the attention.  


  
There’s relief in surrendering, bliss in allowing his brain to quiet and his hands and lips to take over. Physicality has always been Thor’s comfort and strength, as it was always Loki’s bane and weakness but here, wrapped in sheets with nothing but the faint starlight to illuminate their bodies, they meet each other as equals, with nothing between them but the paper-thin barrier of skin.  


  
“Lube,” Thor whispers, his lips brushing Loki’s skin with the words. Loki moans, a choked sound of relief. Thor catches the hurried twist of his hand, tastes the brightness of seidr as he licks his way up Loki’s chest. Seconds later, a slick bottle is in his hands and Loki’s thighs spread around his hips.  


  
It pains Thor to pull away. The separation hurts but Loki’s soft noise of confusion is the true twist of the knife. Thor understands perfectly—the invitation is writ on every line of muscle, the hard line of Loki’s cock, the inviting darkness between his legs. Thor shakes his head and quiets Loki’s questions with a kiss. The contact lingers long enough for him to uncap the lube and clumsily spread some over his fingers but when he presses the first in his breath stutters. In hopes of smothering the ragged sounds of his pants, Thor buries his face in Loki’s chest. It’s not enough—small whimpers and gasps escape as humid breath washes over Loki’s cool skin but Thor doesn’t care, not with Loki shivering underneath him, not when he hears a tiny, choked off moan.  


  
It’s been a long time and the burn pulls at his lower back. He should take more care with himself, should go slower but how is that possible with Loki’s fingernails dug into his shoulders, his tongue tracing the shell of his ear?  


  
“Oh Thor,” Loki murmurs. His hands smooth over Thor’s shoulders, the contact quick and frantic. “Oh _Thor_.” His voice catches at Thor’s groan as a second finger joins the first. The sound blazes down Thor’s spine.  


  
To hear Loki come undone, to know that he’s managed to ruffle that composure without even properly laying a finger on him…Thor whines, his fingers moving faster. His arm twinges from the uncomfortable angle but he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, not when the first hints of pleasure are just beginning to creep through the haze.  


  
Loki whines, his hips surging helplessly upwards. There’s no real relief for either of them in the movement, though the brief catch of his cock against Thor’s is sublime beyond all imagining. Taking a deep breath in, Thor adds a third finger. Loki must be able to sense the difference because he curses softly and furiously, his hands turning Thor’s head to face him. When he turns his head the light catches Loki’s eyes enough for Thor to see pupils blown wide and the hunger in Loki’s glassy eyes.  


  
Loki licks his lips like he’s ready to devour a feast. “How does it feel?” he asks in a voice that sounds as wrecked as Thor feels. “How does it feel Thor?” he asks again, after a few seconds have passed and nothing but Thor’s uneven breaths answer him.  


  
A high, thin sound escapes Thor’s lips as his fingers push in deep and just barely brush against the wildfire spot deep inside him. Loki’s hands travel down his back to clamp onto his hips and Thor cries out as sharp fingernails dig into his skin. Everything pushes him closer to the edge: every touch, every sound, the taste of Loki’s sweat against his lips, the scent of arousal spread thick over them. “I, I,” Thor stammers, stricken dumb in the face of Loki’s intoxicating hunger.  


  
Loki shifts so that his cock rubs against his perineum and Thor shouts, harsh and guttural.“It’s not enough is it?” Loki croons, his fingers tenderly carding through sweaty blond hair. Thor chokes back a cry but it’s too late—Loki knows him and here, with all of his defenses stripped away, Thor could never imagine dissembling well enough to fool him.  


  
“Loki,” Thor finally manages to growl out and while it’s just a simple two syllables, judging by the shuddery breath that Loki exhales, it seems to mean everything.  


  
Loki’s legs clamp around Thor’s hips. With subtle shifts of his weight the trickster tries to reverse their positions but Thor will have none of it. While one hand still works between his legs he uses the other to pin his brother to the bed. His fingers brush Loki’s throat as they flex, threat and plea held in the gesture.  


  
“Let me.” Thor’s voice wobbles at the last second, making the command sound more like a broken plea. His heart beats hard in his chest as he waits for Loki’s response—his brother’s already yielded so much tonight that for a moment Thor fears he’s asked too much but then Loki swallows hard and cranes his head backwards to reveal the long, supple line of his throat.  


  
Thor leans forward to kiss the vulnerable skin, shuddering as his fingers slip free of his body. “Loki,” he murmurs against his brother’s sweat-dampened skin, not missing the tremble of muscles underneath his fingers. “Oh Loki,” he sighs as he pours more lube on his hand and reaches behind him.  


  
Small, strangled noises burble up from between Loki’s tightly sealed lips at the touch of Thor’s hand on his cock. The mischief god’s eyes clench shut as Thor works him over, alternating slow pumps and tight squeezes, rolling his thumb over the underside of the head. A million ways he knows to undo his brother and he uses them all now, all to achieve that thin cry of surrender that’s half frustration and half plea and wholly incredible.  


  
“Now,” Thor promises, only vaguely aware of his mouth moving. “Now, Loki, Loki, oh _Loki_ …” His voice trails off into an appreciative sigh as he presses Loki’s cock against his entrance. Blunt pressure teases his body and Thor shakily inhales before pushing down.  
It never gets easier, the first slow push in but he can force the discomfort away by focusing instead on Loki’s face, on the uncharacteristic look of wonder spread across sharp features. Thor can sympathize. For all the times Loki’s fucked him it’s never been at Thor’s initiation—it’s always been Loki demanding, with snarls and fury, with sneers and taunts, with challenge and dares. And Thor’s always acquiesced for a number of reasons, always good ones but this, Loki motionless underneath him except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, Thor’s hand still keeping him prisoner—Thor feels dizzy from it all.  


  
Slowly, slowly, Thor sinks down, his body clutching at every inch of Loki. His skin burns and pulls as thought it’s two sizes too small. He’s so fragile the slightest wrong move will rip him apart but he loves it, relishes every agonizing second of it. From far away he can hear the crash of the ocean’s waves and the roar seems to blend with Loki’s frantic gulps of air as Thor seats himself fully on Loki’s cock.  


  
His clever, silvertongue trickster of a brother stutters, Thor’s name catching on his lips as he exhales. “Thor,” Loki repeats with more urgency, his hands smoothing over muscular thighs before sliding up to cup his ass. Long fingers pull at the taut globes, stretching him almost past the limits of comfort but for the moment it all blends together in a bright blur of sensation.  


  
“It’s ok,” Thor says, shifting his hips before rising. Loki’s hands move back to his thighs, his fingernails digging into golden skin. Loki isn’t gentle with his touch but Thor ignores the bite as sparks of pleasure dance down his spine in direct counterpoint to his movements. It’s been so long, so long and he’s forgotten how good it can be, never quite knew how good it could be.  


  
Loki’s hips thrust up, only as much as Thor allows, but it’s still enough to send a bolt of ecstasy through the thunderer. His back arches and he rocks his hips mindlessly seeking more. Loki obliges and between the two of them they set up a halting rhythm. With Thor’s hands holding Loki captive the trickster can’t thrust quite as deep as he would like nor can Thor gather quite enough speed but it’s still mind-blowingly _good_.  


  
“Loki!” Thor yelps as they fumble their way into the perfect angle. Loki’s cock rubs tantalizingly over his prostate and Thor almost sobs at the unforgiving pleasure coursing through his body. He retaliates by slowing his movements until his hips barely rock back and forth, the small motions designed to tease Loki beyond all coherency.  


  
Loki’s mouth wobbles in a feeble attempt at a smirk before, without warning, Thor slams his hips down, taking Loki in all the way. The expression vanishes as swiftly as though it had never existed but after a few beats Loki speaks, his voice torn into little more than a ragged gasp. “How does it feel?”  


  
Loki’s question ricochets through his skull and Thor can do nothing more than gasp as Loki, damn him, discovers the perfect angle. With minimal effort he can keep pressure on that perfect cluster, turning Thor into a gasping wreck. The only way Thor could escape, if he wanted to, would be to change their positions, to move the hand currently pinning Loki to the bed.  


  
Loki always underestimates him. His brother’s wicked expression falters as Thor grins, then smoothes away into nothing as Thor clenches mercilessly around him. Green eyes roll back and thin hips buck up as Thor refuses to release him. From having this particular torture inflicted on him many times Thor knows exactly what Loki feels: pleasure so intense it trips into pain, the sheer force engulfing and not enough, not nearly enough.  


  
“You tell me,” Thor pants, one hand loosely stroking himself for some relief. Loki cries out, his hands spasmodically clenching and releasing on Thor’s well-marked thighs. “Tell me how it feels, brother.” He puts deliberate emphasis on the endearment, trusting to Loki’s weakness for the word—  


  
Loki’s hands reach for him and Thor could no more deny him comfort than he could deny the breath flowing through his lungs. Lips fuse together in an embrace too violent to be called a kiss and Thor releases his fury, his desire, his love into the one being in all the realms who seems to understand all of it.  


  
“It feels,” Loki gasps to the ceiling, his fingernails clawing furrows down Thor’s back to keep him close, “it feels like I’m prisoner and jailer all at the same time, feels like the Bifrost, like…it feels, Norns, _Thor!_ ”  


  
Like the tides, Thor’s hips crash down on Loki’s again and again, all finesse and caution vanished as they hurtle towards completion. He can tell from the change in the angle and from the increasing force of Loki’s thrusts that the trickster’s dug his heels into the mattress but Thor doesn’t care about such minor matters as control, not when the storm and chaos are finally blending together in a wild, savage mix.  


  
Loki bites at his jaw; Thor slams down into him. Each movement of their dance is completed with effortless brutality and yet there is gentleness within Loki’s harsh embrace, in Thor’s merciless pace. And together, with movements as old as time and fresh as each gasp, they work themselves towards completion.  


  
“Falling,” Loki says suddenly, his voice tight and choked with impending orgasm. “Thor, Thor, it’s like I’m falling and I can’t stop, it’s too much, I can’t stop, I’m—“  


  
Thor kisses him, wraps his arms around Loki’s too thin shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he growls into Loki’s ear, panting as his body winds closer to completion with each movement. “I’ve got you,” he repeats and Loki’s hands grip his biceps like a lifeline. “Together,” Thor babbles, “together, we’ll fly together.” He knows only the spiral of pleasure tightening in his core, cares only for the body beneath his. He’s aware only of Loki’s heart pounding so hard against his chest that it threatens to escape. Thor would welcome it, would make it a home beside his own.  


  
“Thor,” Loki breathes, his body tensing. Thor responds, his hips undulating as pressure builds in the pit of his stomach, winding tighter and tighter. Words spill from Thor’s mouth as the storm builds within him, lightning at his fingertips and thunder in his voice as he calls his brother’s name. Loki wraps a shaking hand around Thor’s cock and there is seidr, warm and crackling in his touch. Thor shudders underneath the feel, electricity flaring through his body as he finally surrenders and spills.  


  
Loki cries out as he follows, his hips bucking into Thor’s body. Thor feels everything but only from a distance, as though he’s been disconnected from his body with only the thinnest of strings to hold him tethered. He doesn’t mind so much, not when satisfaction glows so warmly in his chest. He could spend a decade like this, just floating along, buoyed up by his own languor and the shaking body underneath him.  


  
The scent draws him back. It tickles at his nose and Thor’s curiosity demands that he investigate further. He shuffles closer and finds the source buried beneath damp locks of silken black hair. A name rises to his tongue and he murmurs it without thinking. “Loki.” It sits perfectly on his tongue, the slow drop of the first syllable, the purse of his lips almost like he’s asking for a kiss, to be followed by the lighter ending where his lips curve into a smile. “Loki.”  


  
He only becomes aware of his brother’s silence after he repeats his name a fourth time without any answer. Awareness slowly awakens and Thor cranes his head to look down at his brother.  


  
Sightless green eyes stare at the ceiling, unblinking as Thor calls his name once more. Hoping to catch his brother’s attention, Thor runs his thumb over Loki’s cheek, only to find the skin wet. He leans closer to press his lips just underneath Loki’s eye, to the dark circles that look like bruises in the pale moonlight. He tastes salt but not the sourness of sweat—instead this is almost sweet on his lips. Only then does Thor catch the shine to Loki’s eyes, the dampness that wells at the corner to finally spill over a sharp cheekbone.  


  
“Loki,” Thor whispers, rolling onto his side so that he can pull the trickster into his body. He wraps all his limbs around Loki’s thin body and for once his brother folds unresisting into his embrace. Thor bottles all his questions and reassurances, settling instead for the warm, trembling mass of his sibling, contenting himself with the steady heartbeat against his chest. He presses countless kisses to Loki’s forehead, to his cheeks and eyelids, hoping that they can say what words cannot.  


  
When Loki’s arms wrap around him, Thor accepts the embrace as victory.  


  
~*~  


  
Hours later a whisper of wind across his bare chest wakes Thor.  


  
He rouses to find himself the bed’s only occupant. Familiar panic crushes his chest until the breeze caresses his cheek. Thor tracks the elusive salt scent to the open window and there, silhouetted in the starlight, half-shrouded by filmy, billowing curtains, he finds Loki staring out at the ocean.  


  
Moonlight hits the younger god’s pale skin, turning him almost luminescent. He looks otherworldly and utterly unreachable but Thor is not easily daunted. “Loki,” he calls in a sleep-roughened voice.  


  
Loki turns slowly. His eyes travel up and down Thor’s body before recognition lights in their depths. Thor suppresses an involuntary shiver. “Come back to bed.” He holds the sheet up in invitation.  


  
It takes a moment but eventually Loki’s eyebrows crinkle and he takes a step away from the window. “Thor,” he says, not a question but not quite a statement either.  


  
Thor sits up but makes no further move towards Loki. His brother always reminds him of a skittish horse in moments such as these, where one wrong movement could send him racing away. “Come to bed,” he repeats.  


  
Loki shuffles closer until he kneels on the mattress. One long finger reaches out towards him and Thor tracks its slow progress towards his body. A shudder, one that he cannot suppress, shakes through his broad body when Loki unerringly lays his finger in the very center of his scar. Surprisingly, Loki doesn’t flinch away from the unintended rejection.  


  
“He was no one.” The fingertip stays pressed to Thor’s skin as Loki speaks, his voice flat and emotionless. “Some Vanir castoff with illusions of importance. His dreams were infinitely larger than he could have been but…” A mirthless, bitter smile flashes across Loki’s face but his eyes stare far beyond Thor into depths that only he can see. “It pleased me to indulge him. To stoke his impotent rage, to marvel at his ambitions…There was power in it.”  


  
Though he wishes he didn’t, Thor well understands his brother’s words. How not, when he succumbed to the same temptations in his youth? To have unwavering attention and devotion focused entirely on his being, to have others stand in awe of his power and might…Much as he abhors them, Thor cannot fault Loki for his own shortcomings.  


  
“I even found some minimum diversion in teaching him. He had some natural talent and it was a further amusement to encourage him to nurture what little talent he possessed.”  


  
“It was more than you suspected.” Thor clamps his lips together after the words blurt out of him but the damage is already done.  
Startled into awareness, Loki glances sharply at him. Thankfully the stiff line of his shoulders eases and a rueful, regretful expression crosses his face as he glances at Thor.  


  
“Yes,” he answers, fingernail digging into the sensitive scar tissue. “Yes, he managed to nurture that modest little scrap of talent he had into something…well, not formidable persay but certainly more than I’d thought him capable of.” He looks at Thor again, for a hairsbreadth of time before his eyes slide away. “Enough that the little tricks I’d taught him gained new meaning.”  


  
Thor nods, not approving but understanding. Loki’s arrogance has always been one of his brother’s greatest flaws and combined with his shortsightedness it makes for a prodigious weakness. It was just his brother’s perverse luck that this weakness hurt not him but Thor instead.  


  
And yet, even with Loki quite literally putting his finger on the problem, Thor can no longer muster the rage he felt earlier. Loki has wound his way too deeply into Thor’s heart for him to ever hope to cut him out and, pushed to the point, Thor finds that he doesn’t want to try. He might not be capable of thoughtlessly forgiving all his brother’s sins: too many other lives have been injured for him to simply absolve Loki of all his transgressions but there are other sacraments Thor can offer.  


  
Thor closes his hand around Loki’s wrist and watches panic flare in his brother’s eyes before it is ruthlessly suppressed. He cannot help but admire his brother’s defiant courage, evident in the way that he meets Thor’s eyes without asking for reprieve or attempting explanation. More than anything else, his unflinching acceptance settles Thor’s mind.  


  
He brings Loki’s hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his palm. “Come to bed,” he murmurs against the smooth skin, so unlike his own calloused palm. Loki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and Thor laughs as he drags him forward, the slighter body crumpling against the solid barrier of his own flesh.  


  
He could spend dozens of mortal lifetimes persecuting Loki but this is better, the slide of skin against skin, the whisper of sheets over their bodies, the answering drumbeats of their hearts as their fingers entwine. This is hope and compassion and yes, even forgiveness. All of it is wound into Loki’s simple smile hidden against Thor’s skin and bound in the effortless whisper of love Thor releases over his brother’s heart.  


  
~*~  


  
Days later, Loki lays his palm over the scar and looks at Thor.  


  
“I could take it away,” he offers, his voice carefully blank. Warm tendrils of healing seidr drift over Thor’s skin, whispering promises to his barely mended flesh.  


  
He thinks back on the past days: of Loki’s carefree laugh as Thor chased him through the surf, of marveling at the Midgardian’s baffling ranges of electronic entertainment, of sweat soaked sheets and sated bodies, of love unspoken, of devotion whispered in the twilight moments between sleeping and waking. Of Loki, flawed and raging against himself and the rest of the world, of himself, imperfect but striving to become better.  


  
Thor catches Loki’s hand within his and tangles their fingers together before kissing his brother’s knuckles.  


  
He smiles, knowing the offer will not be made again. “Let it stay,” he says simply.  


  
_Let us stay._   


  
~*~


End file.
